Imaginarium Comics #1: The Adventures of Man-Man!

The following presentation is an ImaginariumTM Comic!

To properly experience this innovative new comic book format, just follow these three easy steps:

1. Read the words.
2. Form the pictures with your mind.
3. Enjoy!*

*WARNING: Failure to “Enjoy!” is a violation of the terms and conditions of the End-User License Agreement that you implicitly agreed to by reading any of the text on this page and will result in penalties up to and including me showing up at your house and pouting and crying and saying “Why don’t you like meeeeeeeeeee!” in the saddest voice you’ve ever heard.

 

THE ADVENTURES OF MAN-MAN!

Who He Is and How He Came to Be:

Dan “The Man” Grimaldi’s father was literally henpecked to death [Ed. note: Not literally. Like, literally.] by a gaggle of overbearing females. From his wife, to his mother, to his wife’s mother, to his sisters, to his lady boss at the Bed, Bath and Beyond, he was surrounded by hos who could not let bros be bros.

Inspired by his heroes Scarface, Hugh Hefner, and Triple H (a.k.a. The Holy Trinity of All That is Man), Dan vowed to avenge his father’s emasculation by getting that paper by any means necessary, keeping his pimp hand strong, and crushing any fools who dared stand in his way. In other words, by being a Man’s Man. A MAN-MAN.

He got himself a sweet job doing construction and worked his way up through the ranks (while still finding time on the weekends to crush brews with his boys, because otherwise, what’s the point?) and eventually became the most powerful real estate developer in the world, with enough money to pay Donald Trump to suck his dick on live television. (Not that he would. Gay.)

He then sold that company for an obscene sum to some schmuck whose name he doesn’t even remember right before the collapse of the housing market.

Now, from his base of operations in the Man Cave, along with his bro from ano’ ho Steve “Steve-O” Primerano, he uses his untold wealth and considerable free time to survey every corner of the only country that matters, these great United States, in search of crimes against masculinity, which he personally stomps out as part of his one-man war against the feminiziation of the American male.

He is the left nut. He is the right.

He is…

MAN-MAN!

 

This week’s episode:

“Why Don’t You Paint the Inside of Your Mouth? WITH MY COCK!”

In a hardware store, on a Sunday afternoon, newlyweds Brian and Jess look at paint swatches.

“What do you think?” Jess says.

“I don’t know,” Brian says.

“Come on! I want you to be part of this decision, too!”

“Sorry. I just don’t really care what shade of green the bedroom is.”

“Don’t think of it as what shade of green the bedroom is.” She smiles at him coyly. “Think of it as what shade of green you’ll be washing off of me when we’re done.”

Brian laughs a little and gets close and put his hands on her hips.

“Can’t we just skip the painting and get right to the–”

“Jesus Christ!” Jess scrunches her face and pulls the collar of her shirt up over her nose.

Brian sniffs the air. He smells a fart. A bad one.

“Oh, wow.” He fans the air in front of his nose and gags a little. He looks around. No one else is there.

“Was that you?” Jess says.

“No, but whoever it was–”

“Yes, whoever it was,” Jess says, poking Brian in the ribs.

Brian swats at her hand playfully.

“Yes, whoever it was should call the National Guard, because, judging from the smell, there’s a full-blown zombie apocalypse going on in his rectum.”

Jess pulls her shirt collar back down and puts her hands on her hips. “His rectum? That’s very sexist of you, assuming the maleness of our anonymous butt-bomber. I’ll have you know that the fairer sex can be just as foul in that area as you menfolk, thank you very much.”

“That’s what you’re gonna get all Andrea Dworkin on me about?” says Brian. “Farting?”

“Yes!” says Jess, thrusting her fist into the air. “Sisters, blow your butt trumpets in triumph! Liberte, egalite, farternite!”

“Fine. I concede your sex’s mastery of the flatulary arts.”

Jess bows slightly and tips an imaginary hat. “A truce, then.”

They’re snapped out of their mock argument by a metallic clank coming from near Brian’s feet. It’s quickly followed by a light clattering near Jess’s feet. They look down. By Brian’s feet, there’s a six-pack of Heineken. By Jess’s feet, there’s a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes with heels high enough to make Jess wonder if the CIA forces prisoners to walk in them to get them to cough up state secrets.

They watch as both of the items slowly slide away from them in opposite directions, pulled by nearly invisible strands of what looks like fishing line into unseen corners of the store. When the beers and shoes pass out of sight, they look around. Again, no one else is there. Not a single customer. Not a single employee.

“The fuck?” says Brian.

Jess shrugs.

Just then, Brian gets hit in the chest with a bowl full of chicken wings. The wings fly out of the bowl on impact and splatter Brian’s shirt with hot sauce.

Jess claps her hands over her mouth and gasps. Brian’s mouth drops open as he looks down at his shirt. He looks like he wants to say something, but his brain is firing so many fucks, shits, and goddammits into his voice box that they all get caught in his throat and nothing comes out, so he just points to the stain with both hands and shoots Jess a look that silently screams, “Can you fucking believe this shit?”

Jess starts to giggle from behind her hands, but she’s cut off when a box set of all three Fifty Shades novels hits her in the back of the head. She yelps and grabs the back of her head with both hands and drops down to one knee. Brian drops down with her.

“Are you OK?” he says, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Jess rubs her head and sucks air through her teeth. “I’m fine, I guess.”

They look down at the ground again and the books and the bowl that the wings were in slide away to nowhere, just like the beer and the shoes.

“Let’s get out of here,” Brian says.

“Not without my paint!” Jess says, shaking her fist.

Brian just stares at her.

“Sorry. Joke Tourette’s,” she says.

They stand up and run for the exit. It’s an automatic door, but it doesn’t open. Brian tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge. He notices that there’s a locked gate on the other side of the door, so he stops trying. Jess apparently doesn’t notice this, so she grabs a hammer off of a nearby display and hurls it at the door with a loud grunt.

The glass shatters. Brian dives backward and covers his face with his arms to protect himself. He needn’t have worried, since the force of the hammer drove the broken glass outward, but his reflexes were in better-safe-than-sorry mode at the time.

“Could you at least yell, like, ‘Heads up!’ or something next time you do something like that?” Brian says.

“Sorry. Action Tourette’s,” Jess says.

Brian looks around. All of the windows are similarly barred. He didn’t notice this when he came in. He gets up and runs back to Jess.

“You see a way out?” he says.

“No,” Jess says, looking around again just to make sure.

“Fuck,” Brian says.

All of the lights in the hardware store cut out. It doesn’t really get dark in there because it’s still early afternoon and the large storefront windows let in the light from outside, but it still bothers Brian.

“Fuck!” he says again.

“Look out!” says Jess, pointing over Brian’s shoulder.

Brian turns around and sees a man in a black hoodie and black jeans creeping up behind him. His martial arts training kicks in and he throws a couple of open hand strikes right at the assailant’s ears and grabs the back of his head and thrusts knees into his face until he goes limp and falls to the ground sputtering up blood.

At the same time, another man in a black hoodie and black jeans jumps in front of Jess. Jess jumps back and gets ready to fight for her life, but the man just stands there with his arms in the air. Jess looks behind her attacker-in-name-only and sees that Brian has his situation well under control, so she loosens up a bit.

“What are you doing?” Jess says.

“Protecting my boss, babe,” the man says.

“From what? A last-second jump shot?” she says.

“Sports joke. Cute. Actually, you know what? You’re not bad for a nerdy chick. You could stand to lose the glasses and drop a few pounds, but–”

Jess kicks her attacker in the balls as hard as she can. He tries to man up and fight through the pain, but after a couple of seconds he falls to his knees, groaning. His legs are still slightly open, so she kicks him in the balls again. This time he goes all the way down, curling up in the fetal position and clutching his sack with both hands.

Brian, finished with his attacker, turns to Jess. “You OK?”

“Very,” she says. “Fucking goober thought he could hold me in place with a game of I’m Not Touching You.”

“I’d never hit a lady, bro,” her attacker says, still on the ground.

“Too bad a lady’ll hit you, bro,” Jess says.

Brian kneels down beside Jess’s attacker and pulls him up by the collar. “Let us out.”

“Not until–”

Brian throws him down as hard as he can, bouncing his head off of the ground. He then grabs the attacker’s left foot and pulls it up and off to the side. Jess instantly knows what to do. She takes a big step forward with her right leg, cocks her left leg back…

“No wait!” says her attacker.

…and kicks her attacker in the nuts a third time.

He screams and curls up clutching his balls again. Brian’s attacker, still bleeding quite badly, pushes himself up to his knees. Brian and Jess see this and start walking toward him with clear intent to cause further damage. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and holds them up.

“Hold up, bro,” he says. “I’m gonna let you go. But first, hear me out.”

“No,” Brian says.

“I kind of want to hear what he has to say,” Jess says.

“What?” Brian says.

“It’ll probably be funny!” Jess says. “Plus, if him or his friend try anything, we’ll just kick their asses again. It’s not like it was that hard the first time around.”

She turns back to the man with the keys. “Continue.”

“OK,” the man with the keys says. “I’m Man-Man, and that’s my partner Steve-O. We’re on a mission to stomp out crimes against masculinity.”

“You were right,” Brian says to Jess. “This is pretty funny.”

“Hey, fuck off, bro,” Man-Man says.

Brian cocks his fist back to punch Man-Man in the face and Man-Man jerks his hands up to defend himself.

“Sorry!” Man-Man says. “Reflex, bro!”

“Stop calling me bro!” Brian says, his fist still ready to fly.

“Sorry, boss!”

“Or boss!”

“Sorry, chief!”

“My name is fucking Brian!”

“Sorry, Bri!”

“No! No diminutives!”

Man-Man cocks his head to the side, clearly confused.

“Nicknames, motherfucker! No nicknames!”

“Stop!” Jess says mockingly. “Can’t you see that he’s retarded?”

“I’m not retarded, brrrrrrrrrrr…”

Brian and Jess glare at him.

“…rrrrrrrain work good.”

“So what, are you making fun of retarded people now?” Brian says.

“Huh?”

“’Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrain work good.’ Sounds pretty ableist to me.”

“What the fuck is ‘ableist?’”

“It’s you, Man-Boy!” Jess says. “Come on, Brian. Let’s beat the bigotry out of this asshole!”

“OK, fuck this,” Man-Man says. He tosses Brian the keys. “Just go.”

Brian and Jess walk toward the exit.

“Fuck,” Man-Man says, almost to himself. “I was just trying to help.”

Brian and Jess freeze. Then Brian turns and stomps back toward Man-Man, Jess following closely behind.

“Help?” Brian says, face pink with fury. “You were helping us by damn near choking us to death with your toxic farts and throwing shit at us and assaulting us in what would have been the darkness if you weren’t too stupid to realize that the giant-ass storefront windows would let in the sunlight from outside because it’s still 1:00 in the fucking afternoon?”

“Exactly!” Man-Man says. “It’s 1:00 in the afternoon on a Sunday! You should be at home watching the game with your br… buddies! But instead you’re stuck here doing chick shit.”

“So, what? Were you guys gonna kidnap me and whisk me away to some titty bar to show me the beauty of brodom?”

“Hell no! The ladies at the titty bar at 1:00 in the afternoon are fucking dogs! We were gonna take you to the bar down the street to watch the Pats smoke the Steelers–”

“Fuck the Pats, bro!” Steve-O says, still curled up and clutching his nuts.

“Fuck you, asshole!” Man-Man says. “But yeah, then we were gonna take you to the titty bar. Awesome, right?”

Brian blinks. “I…”

He shakes his head vigorously a couple of times, as if he’s trying to clear it of any excess stupidity.

“Let’s go.”

Brian and Jess walk to the exit, unlock the gate, and leave.

Steve-O crawls over to Man-Man. “The matriarchy is stronger than we thought, bro.”

Man-Man pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t give up, bro. There’s always tomorrow. For now, let us heal our wounds with brews and boobies.”

Steve-O nods. “Brews and boobies.”

“Double-Bs.”

“Hopefully, they’ll be double-Ds.”

Man-Man smiles. “Fuck yeah.”

THE END

 

Join us again for next week’s exciting episode:

“How’s About I Mow Your Mother’s Lawn? WITH MY COCK!”

Same Man time, same Man channel! Or website, if you will! And you will, because no one dares defy…

MAN-MAN!

Eric Lingenfelter

Hi. I'm Eric Lingenfelter. I love jokes. I've loved jokes for my whole life, even back when I was too young to really "get" them. Since 2009, I've been writing and telling my own jokes. I've gotten such rave reviews as "What the hell is going on?" from some cosplayer girl at UB Con, and "What the fuck is wrong with that guy?" from some drunk guy in the back of the room at Nietzsche's, and "HAHAHA!" from receptive audiences all over the ding dang place! If I don't make you laugh, I'm sorry. If I do make you laugh, I'm sorry. Visit my website at ericlingenfelter.tumblr.com for more good stuff.

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